"We should call 911."

"Yeah." He'd shifted them so he had his back against the wall, supporting them. When he adjusted to dig his phone out of his pocket, he had trouble retrieving it. She shifted reluctantly, thinking she might be hampering him, but then he got it.

"c.r.a.p," he muttered.

She was still uneasy enough to react like a startled deer to the one small expletive. Her gaze darted to the blond man, but he was still tied up. Except for a faint moan, he remained unconscious.

"Julie, love." Des curled her hand around her phone. "You don't have a signal here."

"Oh, that's right. It's awful in the stage area. It's better in the back and the lobby."

"Good. Take my phone there and call the police."

"Des..." Her faculties were sharpening rapidly, and she realized he was giving her the phone because he wasn't able to dial the number himself. His hand was shaking, and a quick look at his face showed he was pale. She put her hand on his neck and it was clammy. "You're hurt. He hurt you. We need an ambulance."

"No, we don't." He said it forcefully, and started coughing. Catching her wrist, he gripped it hard enough to hurt.

"I'm hypoglycemic. Can you do exactly as I tell you?"

She was still shook up from her ordeal, but in a heartbeat, her concern for him gave her a different focus. While she wasn't glad for the reason, she seized the opportunity with both hands. "Yes, of course. Tell me what to do."

"What every Dom loves to hear. Go call the police. Then bring me the black case in the front seat of my truck. Don't rush. You're still not steady on your feet." His brown eyes held hers, his mouth taut. "Make the call, get the case and come back."

She looked toward the man. "He's not going anywhere," Des a.s.sured her, a hard note to his voice. "Houdini couldn't shake that tie."

She believed him. She was also getting more worried about Des, because he'd slumped down against the wall as if he lacked the strength to hold himself in an upright sitting position. The shaking was worsening. She scrambled to her feet, clutching the phone. He caught her jeans leg, drawing her attention.

"911 first," he reminded her. "Police. Not ambulance. Unless you need one."

He knew her too well. She'd intended to go to the truck first, to take care of what was happening to him, but he was right. The police were the most important thing, especially since she was going to ignore him and request an ambulance. She'd say it was for the bad guy, that she wasn't sure if he was hurt or not. If Des needed one, it would be here. He might insist the paramedics look at her in retribution. She was okay with that, as long as he had the help he needed.

She hurried toward the back entrance, not wanting to be away from him any longer than necessary, though she suppressed a shudder as she pa.s.sed the shadowed areas she was sure her attacker had used to conceal himself until he'd found the optimal time to pounce.

She dialed 911 while rushing out to the truck. The small black case was there, next to his usual backpack. She told the 911 operator what had happened and that the police and an ambulance were needed.

"All right, ma'am. Stay on the line and stay where you are-"

"I can't. My diabetic friend is hypoglycemic and I have to go back to him. I'm going to lose the signal there. The police can come in the side door. I'm leaving it propped open. We're in the stage area."

She cut the connection. The operator would wisely tell her to stay outside where it was safe, where her attacker wasn't. But the operator didn't know how effective Des was at tying someone up, especially when he wanted it to be intensely uncomfortable and impossible to shake. Maybe it was petty of her, but she was glad he'd made it uncomfortable.

As she went back through the side door, she thought of the attacker's footprints being forever imprinted on the floorboards of her theater. She wasn't going to stand for that. She'd get a voodoo doctor or witch to cleanse the place. She normally didn't go for the New Age stuff, but it sounded like a good idea. There was a Wiccan craft store in Huntersville. She'd have someone come and burn sage or something.

Stop babbling, Julie. She flew back toward the stage area and then jumped back, almost landing on her a.s.s with a little shriek as her attacker raised his head, gazing at her blearily. "b.i.t.c.h," he snarled. "You better let me go or-"

"Or what?" Des came looming out of the shadows, shoving the guy's head back down to the boards with his foot. His skull made a resounding thump. She had no idea how Des had managed to get up, because he looked like a walking corpse. The shaking was affecting his whole body, but his eyes were feverish, glittering as he put the sole of his shoe on the man's throat and leaned his weight there. The man choked, tried to writhe away, but Des wouldn't let him go.

"Des," Julie said sharply, but Des didn't respond to her, holding the man's frightened gaze with one as pitiless as a shark's.

"Apologize," Des snapped. "For calling her a b.i.t.c.h. For all of it."

The man strangled as Des put more weight on his carotid. Julie lunged forward and caught Des's arm. He was still clammy. It was as if suddenly he'd become an old man before her eyes, but an old man still more than capable of dealing with this.

"Say you're sorry," she snarled at the man.

"Sorry," her attacker rasped, and Julie was able to pull Des away, probably because he almost fell backwards. She helped him into a seated position against her podium.

"Police?" he said hoa.r.s.ely.

"They're on their way." She popped open the box and saw a syringe and vial. "What is this?"

"Glucagon. Because I can't... Christ, I'm sorry, love. I'm going to pa.s.s out. Just follow...instructions. Turn me on my side in case I...throw up."

Her gaze flew up to his face. It was as if he was speaking through cotton. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he folded over to the floor almost gracefully.

"Des. Des." She looked down at the open kit. Syringe, vial. Note. Unfolding the note, she read it quickly.

Glucagon Kit: In case I pa.s.s out, follow kit directions to inject under my skin. Nothing to it. Just pinch up some loose skin and stab. I won't mind. If I'm not back in 15 minutes, do it again. Don't let me die if you can help it, but don't worry if I do. It was bound to happen eventually. If all goes well, I should be back in a few minutes. Have juice and PB crackers standing by.

Finding a loose skin part on Des was no easy task, but after she injected the liquid into the vial of powder and mixed it with shaking fingers, she realized the looseness of his jeans gave her access to the upper rise of his b.u.t.tock. She injected the medicine, afraid she was hurting him, because she'd never done anything like that before, but he didn't stir. Her heart hammered nevertheless, because she wasn't sure if she was doing it right. She wasn't sure of anything. She wished the police and ambulance would get here, now, now, now.

"s.h.i.thead gonna die," the man said sullenly. "And if he don't, I'm gonna sue him for trying to strangle me. I-"

She didn't think, galvanized by something so primitive inside her she would have been afraid to look in a mirror. Lunging off her knees, she pulled a belaying pin for the stage ropes from its slot. She closed the distance between her and the man and swung, hitting him full in his fat, stupid mouth. She was pretty sure a tooth went flying. His lip split in a spray of blood.

"One more word, and I will say you got loose and I had to bash your f.u.c.king head in to save my life," she growled, brandishing the pin over him. "Got it?"

His eyes were white with fear. She spun back to Des, kneeling next to him and dropping the pin. Rethinking that, she jumped back to her feet, ran to her mini fridge and came back with a juice box. She freed the straw with shaking fingers, stabbed it into the box, and put it to the side. Easing Des's head into her lap, she stroked his hair away from his face, and thanked G.o.d when she heard the sound of sirens.

By the time the police found their way through the stage door and a.s.sessed the scene, Des was stirring. The two paramedics split up, one checking their culprit and one coming to her.

After checking the attacker out, the EMT informed the police the suspect could be taken to the station. The police hauled him to his feet and removed him, after taking an extra few moments to figure out how to get Des's rope off him. Except for feeling a relief like a weight off her chest, Julie paid little attention to the departure of the suspect. Or to the young police officer trying to draw her away from Des to talk to her about what had happened. When he realized he wasn't going to succeed until they'd figured out Des's situation, he stepped back to wait.

Des was lucid enough to explain his medical condition. "I'm good, man," he told the EMT. "Not my first rodeo. She took care of me. Just got stressed out like a f.u.c.king pansy and my blood sugar took a nose dive while the blood pressure went through the roof."

"You still managed to save the girl." The EMT was a friendly, shrewd-looking middle-aged man with blue eyes and brown hair shot with gray. "I suppose you know you should be wearing a medical ID bracelet."

"I should do a lot of things."

The EMT chuckled. "Yeah, my wife says I should eat less red meat and exercise more, and she's right. Doesn't mean I do it. But both of us should think about it, because you have a pretty girl who cares about you, same as I do."

He still insisted on taking Des's vitals and monitoring him while the police officer finally coaxed Julie a few steps away to get her side of the story. Then he had her wait in the wings with another officer while he did the same with Des. When he gestured to her to come back, she immediately returned to Des's side, taking his hand. His hold was less strong than it normally was.

"Hey, John," the EMT said. "Before you go, can you help me get this guy moved?"

Des wouldn't consent to an ambulance ride or a hospital visit, but Julie had mentioned she had a bed in back. The EMT shot Julie a rea.s.suring look as the policeman moved forward to a.s.sist. "Your friend is an old veteran at this. His numbers are climbing again, which means you did all the right things. He's going to be weak for a little while, so we'll get him into the bed in the back and he can stay there until he's fully recovered."

The two men lifted Des, supporting him on either side, and she guided them to her dressing room apartment, where they laid him down on her mattress.

John had a couple follow up questions for her. She pulled a chair up next to the bed and answered them. She'd thought Des was out of it again, but as she relived the whole situation, his hand closed on hers. It was warmer now, and stronger, and though she chided herself for her weakness, she was glad of the support, since her hand was shaking in his. He noticed.

"You kicked his a.s.s," he said. "Don't be doing that trembling, damsel-in-distress s.h.i.t."

John smiled. "Seems like you both did a good job of taking care of each other."

"Well, she didn't have any choice," Des said dryly. "I was the one who fainted."

While he'd been forthcoming about his chokehold, she suspected they'd both left out the part where he'd given her the choice of killing the guy or not. She had told the officer she'd hit the man while he'd been tied up. She said in the heat of the moment he'd threatened her boyfriend and she wanted to be sure he couldn't get loose. She wasn't going to let herself worry about any of that now. There was plenty more to occupy her.

The EMT and policeman finally took their leave. As she followed them to the side door, the EMT gave her his card. A quick glance told her his name was Ryder. It almost made her smile, since one of her favorite Disney heroes was Flynn Ryder of Tangled.

"That has my cell number on it," Ryder said. "If anything comes up that really worries you, and he won't let you take him to an urgent care, you can give me a quick call. I don't live far from here and I get off shift in another hour."

"Thanks," she said. Going with her usual impulsiveness, she hugged him. "Thanks so much. To both of you," she added to the police officer.

"Don't hug the rookie while he's armed," Ryder advised. "Grateful women scare him."

John snorted. "I'm going to issue a parking ticket to that ambulance out there, ma'am. I think he's parked illegally."

He went outside, Ryder following. As she watched them banter, and Ryder re-joined his partner in the ambulance, she was as grateful for the calming effect of their teasing as for their help.

It wasn't quite enough, though. When she closed and locked the door, she leaned against it, discovering the need to hold onto something solid and inanimate, something that wouldn't say a word about the things that gripped her and made her shake, spill a few more tears. She needed to call Madison and let her know what happened. As the theater owner, she'd be getting a copy the police report. But maybe that could wait a few minutes.

Calmer now, she returned to her room to find Des sitting up. She hurried over to him. "What are you doing? He said you need to lie down."

"I'm good. I want to sit up." He eased her away from him, making it clear he wasn't going to take any coddling. The rejection, as unintended as she was sure it was, stabbed her, because she needed to be touching him. She needed him touching her, but she didn't want to make him feel like he had to take care of her right now.

"It's a b.i.t.c.h, isn't it?"

He was watching her face, all those conflicts chasing themselves over her far too transparent features.

"What is?" she ventured.

"Having a guy rescue you from the bad guy and then pa.s.s out so you end up having to watch over him. It's as bad as a Dom walking away to get a beer instead of doing aftercare."

"No, it's not like that." She deliberately shifted so she was closer to him on the bed, hip to hip. He couldn't move farther away without falling off or standing up.

"You're kind of missing the point," she said. "You pa.s.sed out because you expended all that energy protecting me. You saved me from the bad guy. And then you were nice enough to time the faint for after it all happened. It proved to be a good distraction. I didn't become one of those hysterical, weepy females in front of the police and EMTs. They'll go back to the station and say 'Wow, we wish all our victims of criminal violence were as cool as she was.'"

He slid his arm around her. "You remember the day I said I don't really think about life having worst moments?"

"Yes, I remember."

He put his forehead against her temple. "When I heard you scream, I think that may qualify as one of my worst moments, not knowing if I could be strong, brave or smart enough to help you."

She lifted her head and put both hands on his face. She'd thought his hypoglycemia was a direct result of the physical stress of holding the man in that stranglehold. While that had been part of it, she realized the main cause had been far more internal. Like her, he'd likely never been in a situation like that in his whole life. He'd come to her defense with no weapon to hand except what he knew how to do with rope. He hadn't known if it would be enough, or if he'd be overwhelmed and become a second victim. Seeing all that, understanding he'd been perhaps as scared as she was, for different reasons, made her put her arms around him now and hold on, giving as much comfort as she received.

"You were everything I needed you to be, Des," she said. "And even if you hadn't been able to overwhelm him, the very fact you risked your life to try and help me meant everything."

"Though our shared final thought would have been, 'Why didn't I-or he-dial 911 before rushing in to help? Dumba.s.s.'"

She held him tighter. "You're such a goof. But that's a very good point. Next time I'm the victim of a crime, please remember to do that."

"I have it permanently branded on my brain."

She laid her head on his shoulder and together they let out an unplanned synchronized sigh, which made Des chuckle.

"You're no victim," he said, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "I heard that part where you said you hit him with that rolling pin thing. Remind me not to p.i.s.s you off when you have that close to hand."

"It's a belaying pin. And you need to teach me that hogtie thing."

He snorted. "I'm not sure if that's safe. I might p.i.s.s you off someday."

"You already have, and do, regularly. It doesn't matter. I still love you."

"Same goes. Speaking of which, why was the f.u.c.king side door unlocked if you were in there by yourself?"

She shook her head. "Because I was stupid. Because I was hoping you'd come to see me and say you were sorry, and I imagined this romantic thing where I'd look up and suddenly see you standing there, and you'd say something perfect. If you had to call me ahead of time and ask me to open the door, it would have ruined the scene."

"Hmm." He blew a short puff of air on her brow, stirring the tendrils of hair there. "For my future sanity, let's agree that you won't ever again compromise your safety to preserve the integrity of your internal theater productions."

"Deal."

"Good." He grunted. "As soon as I have you tied up again, I'm going to beat you. Just to make myself feel better."

"Okay. Can we stop talking about it right now, though?"

"Okay." He squeezed her. It still wasn't his normal strength, but it was getting closer. He felt solid, and he wasn't quivering any more. She curled her fingers around his hand, thinking about how he'd said he touched her hands so often when she was tied up to make sure they weren't cold, among other reasons. His had been too cold, but now they were feeling more like his normal temperature.

"Are you all right?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't get mad.

"Yeah. You took care of me just the way I needed, love." He sighed. "I guess you proved your point, about my girlfriend needing to know more about my health than the average person."

"I had to go to extraordinary lengths to say I told you so. Hope you appreciate me arranging for that s.e.xual predator to break into the theater." Her voice broke a little as it hit her once again, what could have happened if Des hadn't come. Rape. She would have been raped. Possibly worse.

"Sshh, hey. It's done. You're good."

"So does the pa.s.sing out thing happen that often?" At his curious look, she gave him a crooked smile. "Figure I'd take advantage of my vulnerable position to find out more about this stuff, when you can't get mad about it."

He closed both arms around her this time, holding her firmly against him. "You are a silly, amazing girl. And a pain in my a.s.s. No, it doesn't happen that often. A situation like that, or a day when things just don't work right, sometimes it can bring on an attack too fast and I need someone to inject me. But it's rare. I know my body pretty well."

"Don't be selfish. I'd like the chance to get to know it pretty well myself. I didn't like your note," she added on a more serious note. "'It was bound to happen sometime.'"

He met her gaze. "We're all going to die, love. I don't know anyone who's gotten out of this life alive."

She'd never met someone so matter-of-fact about dying. On one hand, it gave her a sense of what living with that knowledge had been like for him. But she was going with her gut and, even if it twisted in knots at his words, at all the emotions they could be concealing, she let it guide her.

"But that's not what you meant. I can't put my finger on it, but you're different, aren't you? You're more..."